


Side to Side

by venvephe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Best Friends, First Kiss, Fitness Instructor AU, Getting Together, Horse Jokes, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 09:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17485406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: “You don’t know what you’re in for,” EJ says, strapping himself in and wiggling back and forth on the bike seat to get himself comfortable. And Gabe believes him -  he knows his best friend well enough to be certain that EJ has an ulterior motive for getting him to a six am spin class. Still: something drops in his stomach when EJ’s eyes cut past him to the doorway of the classroom, and immediately his mouth twists into a knowing smirk. “But go ahead and take a look.”He can’t help it; Gabe turns in his seat so that he can see the entrance to the spin room. The instructor is walking in, waving hello to the attendees he recognizes and heading for the bike at the front of the room, the one leading the peloton and the closest to the mirrors. The man sheds his hoodie, and drops the gym bag he’s carrying at the foot of the front bike.Gabe’s jaw nearly drops, too.EJ knows that Gabe has a type. He was prepared for a lot of things, knowing how EJ’s scheming usually goes, but he was definitely not prepared forthis.





	Side to Side

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited to share my first long-ish Landesbarrie fic! This is something I wrote as a part of NaNoWriMo 2018 - I can't remember exactly where the idea for this AU came from, but it's probably Meg or Sarah's fault. Y'all are the best enablers. 
> 
> Also, I refuse to apologize for all the horse jokes in this. Did you know that Horse Jokes was a tag on AO3? I didn't. Now we all know. Do with it what you will, Avs fandom.
> 
> It may or may not be obvious over the course of this fic, but I have never been to a spin class! Huge amounts of thanks to Sarah for the cheerleading and beta reading of this one, and to Jaxington for giving it a read-over as well! This fic is much better for your feedback and encouragement, which is always so helpful and means a lot to me!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

The first text from EJ comes in at 4:31am sharp. On a Saturday. Four minutes before Gabe’s alarm is set to go off.

_Be ready in 10, Gabriel._

Gabe blinks at his phone, bleary-eyed and way too warm and comfortable to consider actually moving. But that ship has long since sailed - Gabe is a man of his word, even if it means getting out of bed soon to get up and go to _spin class_ , at EJ’s insistence. He’s only been bugging Gabe for weeks about doing some sort of fitness thing, under the pretense of spending more time together now that Gabe has moved further into the city.

He stretches languidly, rolling his shoulders a little bit to loosen them, sighing up at the dark ceiling when he collapses back against the mattress. It’s true that now that they live farther apart - only by maybe 15 minutes when there isn’t traffic - they’ve seen less of each other as of late. EJ was busy over the summer, with trips to the stables several times a week and at least once on weekends; Gabe had his own things going on, what with finding a condo and moving and unpacking and everything that went with it, including his sister coming to town to visit. He _does_ want to spend more time with EJ, really. Texting your best friend constantly isn’t quite the same as getting to see his stupid face more than once a month.

Spin class, though? Not Gabe’s first choice in Saturday morning activities. Especially when it’s so early that it’s basically wrapped around to just late at night again.

_Get ur ass out of bed, im nearly there._

_Bring me coffee,_ Gabe pecks out with this thumbs. Thank god for autocorrect. He flips off the covers and grunts when his feet hit the cold floor - it’s still early into the fall and Denver’s only going to get colder, and he winces at both the sensation and the knowledge of the impending winter season. No one in their right mind is up before five in the morning, to willingly subject themselves to getting shouted at in the name of _exercise._ Maybe it’s Erik’s thing, but _God._ Gabe isn’t going to commit to doing this more than once unless he actually, genuinely likes it. The thirty dollars for a class is nothing compared to the tax on his mind and body that is getting up at this unholy, ungodly hour.

_Lattes are the reward not the bait_ EJ texts back when Gabe checks his phone again. He’s forgone the shower, even though that would wake him up more, because he’s pretty sure the metric volume of sweat that will surely pour off his body during the workout would render it useless. Amazingly, Gabe’s managed to pull on his spandex and looser shorts over them without braining himself on the corner of his dresser in the process, despite feeling half-asleep. For her part, Zoey doesn’t move - she doesn’t do much more than look at him balefully for waking her up, actually. Gabe shares the sentiment.

Ugh. He doesn’t know why he let EJ convince him that this was a good idea.

_Don’t text and drive,_ Gabe says, and tosses his phone face-down on his bed as he hunts for a shirt that he doesn’t care about sweating all the way through in public. He probably has an UnderArmor something that will be passable, at the risk of getting called _Thor_ again. Hey - not his fault that he is, in fact, broad-shouldered and blond and muscular enough that the sight of him in spandex puts people in a rather super-heroic frame of mind.

He snorts as he pulls the fabric over his head. _Spin class_. Of all things.

Gabe knows his best friend well enough to be at least moderately suspicious of the entire endeavor. He and EJ have known each other for years, their friendship long outlasting their stint as coworkers when they both worked in the central business district. Their friendship has survived, in rough chronological order: joining and then leaving a beer league (EJ’s leg), attempts at camping up in the National Park (Gabe and bees), ill-fated blind date attempts on both sides, that weekend in 2014 that they don’t talk about, an obsession with horses (an ongoing struggle), and a perpetual disagreement about the quality of ABBA’s music that resurfaces like clockwork every seven weeks. So Gabe has no doubt that this is just one of the many things that will enter the canon of their friendship as a funny story in a few months’ time - provided they survive it, of course.

Doesn’t mean he believes EJ is _remotely_ innocent in his intentions.

He tells EJ as much when he climbs into EJ’s truck, glowering from underneath the hood of his sweatshirt at how chipper his best friend looks even though the sun is just barely over the horizon. He can see his breath in the morning air, for god’s sake. EJ’s broad, toothless smile is more than he can handle right now.

“This is too early for man _or_ beast,” Gabe grumbles, slouching further into the passenger seat and fussing with the dial on the seat warmer. At this point, it’s hard to imagine that whatever this spin class has to offer is worth leaving the sweet, sweet warmth of his bed on a chilly Saturday morning.

“You agreed to this, remember,” EJ says, pointing a finger in Gabe’s direction. “No backing out now, bud. We’ve paid the class fee already. And hey, just think of how much time you’re going to have afterward, when the class is over! An entire morning with time for activities!”

“All the more time to be blaming you for my lack of sleep,” Gabe says, using the back of his hand to mask a wide yawn. “No voluntary form of exercise could possibly be worth a five am wake-up time.”

“You’ll be changing your tune soon enough,” EJ just replies cryptically, shooting Gabe a toothy smirk before turning his attention back to the road.

Yup. Gabe doesn’t know what it is yet, but EJ definitely has an ulterior motive here. Maybe even more than one. Unfortunately, there’s not much Gabe can do in the twenty minutes it takes for them to drive across town other than wonder what it possibly could be - that, and try not to fall asleep to the quiet murmur of EJ’s car radio.

Admittedly, Denver is really pretty like this, in the liminal space between a city asleep and a city awake. The peaks of the Rockies are bathed in the pink-orange light of sunrise coming from the east, even before the rest of the city sees the first bright crescent of the sun. Above them, the sky is a cloudless gradient of dark purples and blues, lightening to burnished orange-gold at the horizon of the plains. There are a few other early risers like them out and about - not many cars on the road, so the city is quiet, but plenty of joggers and bikers appropriately bundled for the early-morning chill. Gabe purses his lips, glad that he’s enclosed within the warmth of the car rather than outside. That’s possibly the only thing he can think of that would be _worse_ than a spin class: biking in the cool, high-altitude, pre-sunrise air.

The street lights flicker out as they drive, the sky getting brighter and brighter. As pretty as it is, Gabe can’t help the impending sense of dread that leaves a leaden weight in his stomach. Spin class plus sneaky EJ plus five am. _Ugh_.

The gym-slash-fitness-studio that EJ parks in front of is innocuous enough - they’ve clearly borrowed some of the colors of the Avs for their branding, all rich blues and maroon and white, which is neither here nor there - and the lights are on inside, so at least _that_ part of EJ’s scheme is genuine. Gabe’s been quiet on the ride over, between the early wake-up and stewing on what possibilities awaited him once they arrived.

EJ’s grin is firmly fixed in place when they walk across the parking lot. Gabe resolutely doesn’t let any of his nerves show on his face - only his impatience and tiredness, shooting EJ a frown over his shoulder that just makes EJ shrug and say, “Hey, your pouts don’t work on me anymore, Landeskog. You’re a few years late on trying to pull that one.”

So, in classic Landeskog-Johnson friendship fashion, they’re full-on bickering as they walk through the door and into Mile High Fitness, EJ leading the way down the brightly-painted hallway towards the room of stationary bikes. Their sneakers squeak obnoxiously on the floor, and slowly the sounds of a gym build around them - the metallic slide of weight machines, the patterned _fshh-fshh_ of footsteps on treadmills. That, at least, has Gabe feeling more awake and alive.

“We’re sitting in the back,” Gabe says, making a beeline for the back of the peloton of standing bikes. They’re a little on the early side so the instructor isn’t there yet, and the class attendees are milling around the bikes and stretching their legs and filling their water bottles, chatting idly or keeping to themselves in the quietude of the early morning.

It won’t last that much longer, Gabe knows. He had the good sense to at least look up what spin classes were like on YouTube, to have some expectations for what he was signing up for. _Quiet_ is pretty much the last word he’d use to describe the workout he’s about to endure.

“Save getting worked up for the actual exercise,” EJ jokes, tucking his water bottle under his arm so that he can bend and re-tie his shoelaces. Clearly, he’s enjoying the chance to watch Gabe squirm in anticipation of what’s to come. Gabe is _certain_ that the other shoe is going to drop - he just doesn’t know what it is yet. Or _when_ it’ll drop. And he’d probably be less riled up about it if it wasn’t still shy of _six in the morning on a Saturday,_ and EJ wasn’t doing _that_ with his face.

There’s not enough coffee in Denver for him to deal with EJ’s smirk like the actual adult that he is, under the circumstances.

Gabe’s about to open his mouth and retort with something that’s not really as witty or clever as he usually is - because again, lack of caffeinated beverage and a proper amount of sleep - when EJ stands quickly, tugging Gabe by the sleeve of his hoodie towards the standing bikes. “Shit, c’mon. Time to warm up - class is about to start.”

And sure enough, the rest of the class has started to gravitate towards the formation of bikes, getting their water bottles settled in place and tucking their feet into the foot-straps as they get ready to ride. A glance at his watch reveals that it really _is_ just about time for class to start, so Gabe lets EJ drag him over to the bikes at the back of the room to get started.

“You don’t know what you’re in for,” EJ smirks, strapping himself in and wiggling back and forth on the seat to get himself comfortable. Last week he’d made a comment about _getting in the saddle_ when talking about spin class, and the image has been stuck in Gabe’s mind ever since.

“Isn’t that the point?” Gabe grumbles, shrugging off his sweatshirt and running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been completely vague and completely suspicious as to what, exactly, I am _in for.”_

EJ laughs, pressing a palm over his own heart. “Aww, and yet you trusted me enough to drag you here anyways? Rookie mistake, dude.”

Gabe bites his lip and messes with his foot-straps, doing his best to copy how EJ’s done them up. Nothing about this is comfortable so far, and he’s fairly certain how this entire experience is going to go. “You invoked the fifth rule in our friendship - the one where you’re not _allowed_ to say no to something, if the other thinks it’s actually something that is good for you.”

“This _is_ going to be good for you,” EJ intones sagely, and Gabe snorts. His reaction just makes EJ laugh and sticks his tongue out at Gabe from between his teeth. God, you really can’t take either of them anywhere without them acting moderately like children. “You’re going to see how wrong you are in about two minutes, and I’m going to savor the expression on your face for the rest of the _month._ Just you wait.”

“All talk, no walk,” Gabe raises his eyebrows pointedly, stretching out his arms. A few of the people around them - mostly women, though it’s nice to see that it’s a pretty good mix of age and gender - are _clearly_ trying to listen in on their antics, and Gabe can’t bring himself to mind. EJ deserves the chirping. “How do I know this isn’t just some masochistic scheme to get me to exercise in public for your amusement, as retribution for the pumpkin thing? I wouldn’t put it past you to -”

“I am _rightly_ annoyed about that still,” EJ says, “but this would be a super weird way to get back at you, my _best friend,_ for that unfortunate incident. I invoked rule five because I’m _right_. This is all for your benefit, I swear.”

Gabe crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says succinctly, expecting that to be the end of the argument. Class is about to start, after all. There can’t be anything that -

EJ’s eyes cut past him, to the doorway of the classroom, and immediately his mouth twists into a knowing smirk. “Well then, take a look,” he says, nodding in that direction.

He can’t help it; Gabe turns in his seat so that he can see the entrance to the spin room. The instructor is walking in, waving hello to the attendees he recognizes and heading for the bike at the front of the room, the one leading the peloton and the closest to the mirrors. The man sheds his hoodie, and drops the gym bag he’s carrying at the foot of the front bike.

Gabe’s jaw nearly drops, too.

Okay: so he has a type. EJ knows that he has a type. But even for whatever best-friend brain-sharing mojo they possess, for how well they know each other, EJ could _not_ have predicted how well this guy checks off every single thing on Gabe’s list. Dear god - Gabe has to force himself to swallow. He was prepared for a lot of things, knowing how EJ’s scheming usually goes, but he was definitely not prepared for _this._

He’s - he’s exactly the deadly combination of cute and hot that makes Gabe go a little weak at the knees. Despite not being quite as tall as Gabe - though it’s hard to tell, since Gabe is sitting on a bike - he’s clearly muscular, well-defined underneath the maroon, gym-branded tee. He’s got broad shoulders and thick arms - working at a gym he probably does more than just spin, of course - and a strong jawline.

He looks like he could use that strength to pin Gabe _down._ A shiver runs along his spine at the thought.

And as far as cute goes - his hair is as tousled as Gabe’s is on this early morning, but it looks really good on his chestnut-brown curls. His cheeks are flushed from the cold outside, eyes bright and alert; that’s more than Gabe could have said for himself about thirty seconds ago. He makes small talk with the woman on the nearest bike, lips stretching into a charming smile. There’s a kind of boyish cheer about him, something effortlessly, naturally charismatic that immediately reels Gabe in. He looks easy to like, easy to want to kiss.

Gabe’s eyes flit downward. And that’s not even _mentioning_ his best asset by far.

EJ coughs into his fist to hide his laugh, and Gabe’s head whips around as he shoots him a _look_ that’s part incredulous, part murderous. The effect of his glare is probably tempered by the blush Gabe can feel starting to heat his face, but beggars can’t be choosers. Goddamnit, _Erik Robert Johnson._

“Are you _shitting me?”_ Gabe hisses through his teeth, precariously reaching over on his bike to whack at EJ’s bicep. EJ, the dick, only giggles harder. “You _knew.”_

“Of course I knew, I’ve been here before!” EJ wheezes-slash-whispers, looking supremely delighted at Gabe’s indignation. Christ, his heart rate has already spiked and class hasn’t even _started_ yet. For his part, EJ just keeps grinning, leaning forward onto the handlebars of his bike to catch his breath. “Just like I knew I had to get you here - for that, exactly.”

He ends his sentence by waving in the direction of Gabe’s face, and Gabe resists the urge to pout. “If you think this is going to be any more successful than that time you tried to set me up with what’s-her-name from your office -”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me,” EJ holds up his hands, placating. “I know what you like enough to have dragged you here - and, having gotten this far, my duty is done. You’re on your own from here on out.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, but before he can respond, the instructor clears his throat and waves a hand at the assembled class of spin-cyclists.

“Hey everyone - we’re about to get started!” he says, hiking one foot up onto the pedal of his bike. It makes the muscles of his thigh flex and bulge, and Gabe absolutely does not stare. “Glad to see some new faces today as well as some repeat victims. My name is Tyson, and I’m the spin instructor here at Mile High Fitness! As always, while I’m here to lead the session, this is _your_ workout. I encourage you to push yourself and see what you’re capable of, but also remember to listen to your body and stay hydrated - we don’t want anyone getting hurt, okay? You all ready to ride?”

Tyson flashes two big thumbs-up around the room, and waits for everyone to return the gesture before he hops onto his bike. Gabe studiously does _not_ imagine Tyson saying those words under different circumstances, because his blood is going to be very much needed elsewhere in his body in, like, two minutes if he wants to survive this workout.

“Okay, let’s heat it up in here!” Tyson says, clapping his hands together once and looking out over the class behind him in the mirror. Despite himself, Gabe finds that Tyson’s smile and energy are infectious, even though he doesn’t even _like_ working out on a stationary bike.

EJ smirks at him knowingly. It’s too bad he’s too far away to kick.

To be honest, Gabe’s YouTube research did not _remotely_ prepare him for what happens over the course of the next hour. Tyson talks them through a warm-up, getting the blood flowing and their muscles primed to go - and Gabe’s just getting used to the motions and Tyson’s upbeat, calm instructions, when the tone of the class flips on its face.

Tyson queues up something on the stereo that’s fast-paced and bumping, and they _sprint_. He shouts out their interval cues for when they’re supposed to speed up and slow down, when to go all-out and when to bring it back to a lighter pace for an active recovery. Gabe’s panting within minutes, his lungs trying to keep up with the bursts of speed Tyson shouts for them push for. His hair keeps falling in his eyes, and it’s not long before he’s sweating _hard_ \- as hard as he used to during bag skate, and that’s saying something. Fuck, Gabe likes to jog on the regular, and this high-intensity shit is giving him a run for his money.

Gabe frowns as he pushes his damp hair away from his face, keeping a white-knuckle grip on the handlebars as he forces himself to pedal faster. That Ariana music video is _highly_ misleading.

God, he’s so distracted by keeping up with the workout that he doesn’t even get to check out Tyson’s ass with the thoroughness it so obviously deserves. For all that the muscles in his calves and thighs are burning, this is definitely a full-body workout. It’s amazing EJ is able to do _anything_ the rest of the day on Saturdays - Gabe’s going to have a hard time wobbling his way back to his truck at the end of this. He’s really not looking forward to the stairs in his condo.

After a half a dozen high-intensity circuits - in which time loses all meaning to the relentless pounding of his heart and Tyson’s cheerful, breathless shouting from the front of the classroom - they finally slow down into a cool-down. Gabe’s got enough dignity that he doesn’t collapse directly over his handlebars in exhaustion, but the temptation crosses his mind. When he looks up from rolling his shoulders - even his _arms_ are going to hate him tomorrow - EJ’s watching him with mute amusement, swigging from his water bottle with a cat-got-the-canary expression on his face.

“Smugness isn’t becoming,” Gabe pants, wiping his hand across his mouth - god, he must look as disgusting as he feels. At least the rest of the class is in a similar state - even EJ, who looks just about as damp and pink, but not quite as winded.

“Didn’t say anything,” EJ smirks, and Gabe glares at him until he laughs. With the class wrapping up, at least, it’s gotten louder with conversation, and no one gives them a second look.

It _does_ mean that Gabe’s gotta get his muscles in working order to hop off the goddamn bike.

“You do this every week?” Gabe says, slowly extricating himself. It takes a little work, now that he’s burned through every reserve of energy in his body, to get his leg up and over the seat of the bike to dismount. “Jesus, don’t you love yourself?”

EJ takes the chirping in stride; he knows as well as Gabe does that once they’re out of the gym - out of earshot - that he’ll be giving as good as he gets on the way home. That’s probably mostly why Gabe gets away with it. “You do your running and I’ll do my spinning, man. You know I need something low-impact.”

He shakes his leg in Gabe’s direction - the one that had broken during their stint in the beer league, when Gabe had felt so bad about it that he actually bought EJ flowers - and Gabe huffs a breathless half-laugh. He’s too tired to even chuckle at EJ’s dumb jokes. It would probably be gross if he squirted water straight into his hair to cool off, right? At least with hockey that had been a socially acceptable thing to do.

“When I run I get a change of scenery, at least,” he points out, and immediately bites his tongue - EJ’s grin has morphed into a smirk in record time, and Gabe just _knows_ what he’s going to say.

“Oh, so you’re saying you _didn’t_ enjoy the view here?” he asks coyly, tilting his head towards the front of the room - to Tyson, who is good-naturedly talking to one of the other class attendees and looks, amazingly, like he actually has enough lung capacity to participate in a real conversation right now. “Because from where _I_ was sitting, I could’ve sworn- ”

Gabe tosses his sweatshirt at EJ’s face to shut him up, but of course that only gets him laughing again. At least he doesn’t say anything else incriminating while they’re still at the gym and within earshot of the _very_ attractive spin instructor EJ specifically dragged him out to see.

No; he saves the interrogation for when they’re sitting at their favorite diner for some post-workout protein, in addition to the coffee Gabe has been so desperately craving. It’s not going to set his world back on its axis - oh, no, too much has happened this morning for _that_ to happen, and it’s still not even nine a.m. - but the least he can do for future-Gabe is to get some caffeine in his system.

With his sweatshirt back on over his sweaty-to-hell shirt and his hair more or less composed, Gabe feels a little more in control of himself. Well, for a given value of _in control -_ his legs had wobbled a concerning amount on the short walk through the parking lot and into the diner. Even _sitting_ doesn’t feel particularly comfortable, and he knows that the rest of his day is going to be like this, gingerly moving around to accommodate the soreness. Hell, muscles he didn’t even know he _had_ are complaining, up and down his body.

Gabe maintains that the inventor or spin must be at least a little demonic, but there’s no denying it was a really thorough workout. And it definitely had him working up an appetite; they’re lucky that they’re pretty early to the diner, since later into Saturday mornings there’s usually a line out the door. Hunger, at least, is a pretty good distraction from how soggy and sweaty he still feels.

His stomach twists on itself, though, at the sight of EJ’s toothless grin over the top of his menu.

“Sooooo?” EJ drawls, pulling out the vowel as dramatically as he can. “Spin class, huh?”

“Spin class,” Gabe agrees, not giving an inch. EJ’s smirk only grows.

“No, no, I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth” EJ says, and Gabe puts his face in his hands, groaning. _Too early for this._ “Was I or was I _not_ a good best friend in dragging you to spin class this morning, because the instructor is _so_ your type that you would bend over a bike for him?”

Curse his Scandinavian heritage and his tendency to blush at the drop of a hat. Gabe’s ears must be _red._ “Erik _Johnson,_ there are octogenarians in this diner.”

“Nothing they haven’t heard before.” He waggles his eyebrows, and he’s only spared from a jab in the shins by their waitress coming by to take their breakfast orders. EJ’s expression is full of barely-reined-in, anticipatory glee the entire time.

There’s a few beats of silence once their waitress wanders away, and Gabe crosses his arms over his chest, staunch and frowning and blushing like - like he _shouldn’t_ be, he’s an _adult_ and there is absolutely nothing wrong with having a preference in what one finds attractive in a partner. It’s _normal._ It’s _none of Erik’s goddamn business._

“Of course you were a good best friend!” Gabe bursts out finally, throwing his hands up in resignation and burying them into his hair with another groan. “It makes complete and total sense that you would drag me to spin class unprompted, without context, in order for me to check out the cute instructor because he’s exactly my type! What best friend _wouldn’t_ do that, rather than _tell me about him_ like any other sane person?”

“It wouldn’t have been the _same!_ ” EJ protests, and Gabe scoffs into his coffee. It’s still a little bit scalding, but he takes a long drink while EJ keeps trying to make his point. “If the situation had been the reverse - if you kept meeting a cute girl you thought you should set me up with on one of your running routes, wouldn’t you have brought me along so I could meet her?”

Gabe presses his mouth into a thin line; he has a point. “But I know better than to take you running, with your whole - thing,” he gestures vaguely to all of EJ even though he absolutely definitely means EJ’s knee injury, mostly because he knows it will make EJ roll his eyes in disdain. And it does.

“Still!” EJ says, his grin returning. “C’mon, spill it. I know you want to. You’re trying to front with this whole annoyed-about-exercise thing, but you’re bursting to tell me.”

EJ knows him too well; Gabe _does_ want to freak out a little about how attractive Tyson the Spin Instructor is, in addition to chastising EJ about forcing him into Saturday morning suffering in the first place.

“I just - ” Gabe sighs, scratching at the corner of his jaw, “Putting aside the discussion of your simultaneous good and _terrible_ skills as a wingman - _dude._ How is that guy teaching a spin class? He’s got the face and body of a Roman statue.”

EJ smirks and gestures for him to continue, sipping at his iced latte with an air of indelible superiority. Gabe ignores it, pushing forward with his questions. “How long have you been going to his spin class? Has he always been like - _that_? Is he single? Do you know if he’s ever played hockey? Because I swear to god, you only ever seen an ass like that on a guy who skates -”

“Chill, _chill_ ,” EJ laughs, “I told you - I’ve been going weekly for like a month and a half, didn’t you pay attention when we were on the phone and I was trying rope you into finally coming? Tyson is _always_ like that, though he didn’t teach the first two classes I took. I think he might have been teaching one of the other things they have at Mile High Fitness - maybe yoga?”

Gabe’s brain nearly short-circuits at that mental image.

“And as for the hockey,” EJ continues, oblivious to the fact that Gabe’s brain has just gone from solid to liquid, “just ask him yourself about it next week.”

“Next week?” Gabe quirks an eyebrow. “What’s - oh, next week’s _class?_ You expect me to suffer that torture a second time for the sake of seeing a cute guy?”

It’s EJ’s turn to raise his eyebrows expectantly, and - fuck. Okay. Gabe’s going to spin class with EJ again next week, isn’t he?

 

—

 

“Hey, y’all - good morning! Glad to see you early risers here for a challenge this Saturday!”

Tyson is as bright and cheerful as Gabe remembers him being last week - though by all rights, his memory should _not_ be this good, considering both how 1. early, 2. coffee-deprived, and 3. _utterly exhausting_ last Saturday’s spin class was. It’s really not hard to remember Tyson, of course; his mop of dark, unruly curls is kept off his forehead this week with a maroon-and-white sweatband, matching ones around his wrists. It’s kind of a good look on him, actually, even though Gabe’s pretty sure it would be lame on anyone else, himself included.

“As always - welcome to spin here at Mile High Fitness! I’m Tyson, your friendly neighborhood cycling instructor, here to lead your workout journey.”

Tyson gives the class a jaunty salute, and Gabe finds himself mirroring the smile on Tyson’s face. He has no idea how anyone can be so enthusiastic about exercise bikes, but Tyson manages to do it. This week, at least, Gabe was able to get himself into bed at reasonable time the night before, knowing what - or who, exactly - would be the centerpiece of his morning routine.

He’d also done a little bit more than just comb his hair, but that is neither here nor there.

(“You look more human this week,” EJ had said when Gabe picked him up on the other side of town. No one should look that mischievous and knowing before the sun has fully risen. “Got something you’re looking forward to?”)

“Glad to see some new faces - welcome again, I hope you have fun - as well as our team of spin vets! If you’re looking for a challenge, I promise to make this good for you, too,” Tyson continues, and shoots a wink at the class. Gabe feels the weight of EJ’s stare from the side and resolutely ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He’s going to be doing a rigorous workout. Turning pink is normal for spin class.

He isn’t wrong, and Tyson wasn’t kidding, either - he puts them through their paces, shouting out for when they need to pedal as fast as they can and when they’re supposed to take a breather. Gabe would have said it was impossible last week, but he’s certain that he sweats even _more_ this Saturday.

He manages to get off the bike without falling on his face - a minor miracle if there ever was one - but the concentration it takes is distracting enough that Gabe doesn’t notice Tyson strolling over until they’re practically face to face.

God, Tyson has a nice face.

“Hey!” Tyson holds out a hand for him to shake - then clearly remembers how sweaty he is, wipes his hand hastily on the side of his sweatpants, and holds out his hand again. “Sorry, sorry - just wanted to say hi. Doing a great job for two classes in!”

Gabe pries his tongue off the roof of his mouth as he shakes Tyson’s hand, smiling even though he’s maybe screaming a little on the inside. “Hi! Uh - thanks. Just trying to keep up, honestly.”

Tyson dimples a grin at him. “You’ll get there! Getting the rhythm of spin takes a little bit, but I promise it gets easier as you build up strength and endurance. Although, uh, wow - your legs are already -”

There’s a beat of silence as Tyson makes a vaguely strangled noise in his throat and gestures at Gabe’s thighs. Heat creeps up the back of Gabe’s neck. “- _Great_ , totally great at… spin. Yeah. I’m gonna -”

Gabe’s already opened his mouth to respond and can only blink as Tyson hikes a thumb over his shoulder and shuffles a few steps backwards; it’s hard to tell since they’ve been spinning so hard, but the flush on his cheeks looks even brighter. “Okay, um - see you next week?”

“I’ll be here!” Tyson says with a cheerful wave, and heads to the other side of the room.

EJ snickers from somewhere behind Gabe, and he doesn’t bother turning to give him the hairy eyeball. It wouldn’t do a damned thing to prevent him from hearing all about this over the course of the coming week.

 

—

 

At breakfast , EJ still manages to be incredibly chipper for someone that’s on the other end of a grueling bike workout that begins around sunrise. Gabe’s half-convinced he’s just waiting for the opportune moment to drop whatever perfect chirp he’s come up with about his crush on Tyson.

“See - not so bad, once you go more than one week in a row,” he says, waving a home fry around on the end of his fork before popping it into his mouth. “You’d acclimate even more if you came more than once a week.”

“It’s been _two classes_ and my body hates me,” Gabe groans, combing his hair away from his face - it’s still a little sweaty along his hairline and the nape of his neck, and it’s stubbornly falling into his eyes. He squints at EJ in the bright morning sunlight. “How are you not ready to keel over, doing that on Wednesdays _and_ Saturdays?”

EJ grins toothily at him, giving one of his own thighs a slap under the table. It makes a pretty impressive noise even though he’s wearing spandex, Gabe’s gotta admit. “You can fit so many workouts in these babies,” he jokes, then leans forward on his elbows over the table so he can smirk at Gabe. “Actually, it’s ‘cause I’m so used to riding. Guess you can’t say the same.”

Gabe pouts at him as his face flushes - EJ knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, and what kind of images he’s immediately planted in Gabe’s head. It’s a blessing and a curse, that they share the same sense of humor and what feels like half a brain. “I’ll have to resort to murder one of these days for all these horse-related puns, Johnson.”

EJ doesn’t stop beaming at him. “You gotta get around to asking Tyson out, man. I can’t wait ‘til you’re at the point in your future-relationship where I can tell people how you two met.”

“What if he isn’t, y’know,” Gabe half-shrugs, “into guys?”

“ _Wow, your legs are totally great at spin?”_ EJ recites Tyson’s words completely deadpan, and even in his best friend’s ridiculous tone of voice, hearing the compliment makes Gabe flush. “Come on, man. I don’t claim to have good gaydar or whatever, but I have _ears._ ”

And, okay, that’s an opening Gabe can’t resist. “I know,” he says, trying and failing not to grin. “I can see them.”

EJ pouts and kicks him under the table.

 

—

 

“Nice job!” Tyson says, and gives Gabe a fist-bump. “Spinning to Beyoncé really gets the blood pumping, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gabe pants, blinking sweat out of his eyes. He really should bring a towel to class like Tyson does. “Good choice in music.”

Amazingly, Tyson visibly brightens at the compliment. ( _Amazingly_ , because Gabe didn’t think he could _get_ any cuter, and because it’s still, like, within an hour of sunrise.) “Thanks, man! It’s too bad Partition’s not quite the right tempo. This one time I was subbing in for Mile High’s zumba class, and - shit, sorry! Looks like Mary needs something. Catch you next week?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, smiling weakly as Tyson pivots and makes his way through the peleton to the spinner waving for his attention. There never seems to be enough time during the class breaks - or at the _end_ of class - for him to muster up the courage to just _ask._ Tyson’s just pulled in too many directions at once.

Gabe wipes his face against his sleeve, grimacing at how much he’s sweating. Getting to see Tyson is worth it, but he’d really like to see him outside of the gym setting. Doing something other than spin.

Tyson bends at the waist to get his water bottle when the break is over, and Gabe’s eyebrows climb. _Definitely_ doing something other than spin.

 

—

 

“Is it weird,” Gabe says, tucking his phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks out heads of broccoli at the grocery store, “that I’m, like, actually looking forward to getting up on Saturday mornings? I mean, my quads kind of hate me right now and it’s _Sunday night,_ I have like a week before our next class, but -”

“Who _are_ you,” EJ groans, “and what have you done with my best friend?”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Very funny,” he replies, dropping his bagged produce into his shopping basket. “Can’t a guy call his best friend and complain about his love life?”

“Not when it also comes with telling said best friend about how _excited_ they are to see their crush, _before sunrise_ on the weekend,” EJ says. “Seriously, are you possessed? Did one of those alien slug things crawl into your ear and take over your brain? Could be why it’s so big, you know.”

“God, please, not this again,” Gabe sighs, shaking his head. “I thought we got our fill of chirping the size of my head when we played in the beer league. But don’t change the subject and don’t imply I’ve been _Animorphed,_ Erik. You’re the one who wants to be a horse when he grows up.”

Erik just gives him a long-suffering sigh; this is a well-hashed argument between them. “I want to _own a_ horse farm when I retire, Gabriel, that’s entirely different. Did you have a reason for calling me from the grocery store besides wallowing in your unrequited crush, whom you really should just ask out already?”

Gabe grins into the phone, trying not to look too ridiculous as he looks over the bell peppers. “Oh, yeah. What color do you think looks best on me? I know I look pretty good in blue, but since we sweat so much at spin -”

Erik hangs up on him, and Gabe chuckles as he slides his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

 

—

 

By the fourth class, Gabe is starting to feel like he’s maybe just starting to keep up.

Tyson changes up the exact routine every week, giving them different sprint intervals and different music, keeping them on their toes - but in some ways, it’s started to become a little predictable. He feels a little less winded after the vigorous sprints, and muscle memory is starting to kick in for how to stand and sit in stride with the rest of the class without feeling like he’s going to lose balance and tip the bike over. It’s hard to feel like he’s actually building muscle when he only goes once a week, but the little improvements are icing on the cake - the main course is, naturally, still getting to see Tyson once a week. Gabe will take the small victories - like the fact that his legs have started to feel less like jello immediately after class, enough so that he has the energy to kick back at EJ under the table when they go out for breakfast afterward.

It’s what he does when EJ gives him a _look_ from over the top of his iced coffee after class number four. (Still! This late into the fall! In this cold-and-getting-colder weather! Gabe is _Swedish_ and he knows the value of a good, hot beverage. What is it with born-and-bred Americans and their iced coffee?)

“Ow, come _on,”_ EJ whines, reaching down to rub dramatically at his damaged shin through the fabric of his sweatpants. He sticks his tongue out at Gabe, between his teeth. “I didn’t even say anything yet!”

“I can tell you were going to,” Gabe says mildly, stirring milk into his own coffee - _hot_ , like how normal humans drink it in the month of November. It feels nice against his cold, abused hands, which still feel like they are imprinted with the texture of the stationary bike’s handlebars.

EJ just smirks, shifting in his seat like he’s gearing up for something. “We’ve been to four spin classes now, Gabriel - what’s the story? What’s the plan? When are you going to ask Tyson out and see him somewhere besides, and I quote, _that mortal hell of a class?_ ”

“I continue to maintain that it _is,_ in fact, a hellscape designed to punish people under the guise of exercise,” Gabe says, and EJ snorts, but doesn’t interrupt him. “As for asking Tyson out, I’ll - get to it.”

“You’ll _get to it_ ,” EJ’s eyes narrow as he repeats Gabe’s words, and Gabe feels a weight drop into his gut - that’s EJ’s _scheming_ face. It’s EJ’s scheming face that got them here in the first place. “What are you waiting for, Landeskog? You see him once a week. You’ve become enough of a regular that he probably recognizes you and it wouldn’t be weird. You are in the _prime_ for asking him out - there’s no time to waste! Chop chop!”

“I don’t even know if he’s single,” Gabe points out, and an odd expression crosses EJ’s face.

“He’s single, all right,” he says cryptically, and Gabe’s left to bore holes into him with his eyes as their waitress chooses that moment to interrupt their conversation with their breakfast orders. God, _she_ probably recognizes them and their antics, at this point - he’s going to have to tip her more, for putting up with the two of them. Neither of them are well known for their volume control when they get enthusiastic about an argument.

He can’t even focus on his breakfast, not when EJ dropped a bomb like that in the middle of their conversation.

“ _How,”_ Gabe enunciates carefully, “do you know that our spin instructor is single?”

“Cute that you used the word _our_ , there, when you’re being this possessive,” EJ rolls his eyes, “Chill, I didn’t ask him _outright._ I asked Nate.”

“Nate.”

“Yeah, the guy at the front desk of Mile High Fitness on Saturdays? Do you pay attention at all when we go to spin class, or do you really only have eyes for Tyson?” EJ laughs, setting out to cut his omelet into perfectly symmetrical pieces and not watching the play of emotions cross Gabe’s face. Gabe studiously does _not_ answer that last question. Why is he friends with EJ again? “Anyways - he and Tyson are best friends, but it sounds like Tyson’s been complaining loudly about being single for a while. One of the other Wednesday regulars was telling me about it when I was there doing another workout -”

“I can’t believe you voluntarily do more than one class a week,” Gabe interrupts, and EJ just shoots him a look for interrupting. “Anyways - what were you doing talking to Nate?”

“I was trying to finish my protein shake before driving,” EJ says, which, _what._ Cupholders exist for a reason. More than that - Gabe squints a little as he examines EJ’s face. It’s an expression he hasn’t seen on his best friend in a while, but when he looks closer, there’s no denying it: the tips of EJ’s ears are pink and they’ve been inside the diner _plenty_ long for him to have warmed up. Between that and the slightly obsessive way he’s attacking his omelet, Gabe comes to the only logical solution: EJ is _hiding_ something.

Gabe puts an elbow on the table in front of him, scratching through his beard at the corner of his jaw. Better keep that piece of information in his pocket for now - even if it’s ever-so-tempting to use against EJ as potential chirping material. Especially considering what the American is putting him through in this spin-class-romance-from-hell situation.

(Well, the spin class part is the hellish part. Seeing Tyson once a week is fantastic - though too little, in Gabe’s opinion. He’s begrudging to admit it, but EJ _does_ have a point about asking Tyson out.)

He waves away EJ’s explanation-cum-excuse - there are more important things to focus on. One love life at a time. “So he’s single. Doesn’t mean that it’s appropriate to ask him out while he’s working, especially in front of the rest of the class.”

“So don’t do it in front of the rest of the class,” EJ rolls his eyes, like Gabe is being intentionally obtuse and recalcitrant. “It’s not rocket science, dude.”

“I just want to be - nice,” Gabe says, wincing - it sounds lame to his own ears, and doesn’t even express everything he really means. “You know. Not be an asshole. Tyson seems like he deserves it.”

There’s a few beats of silence as EJ considers him calmly, chewing idly on his straw. The sunlight - because now it’s fully morning and there’s actually sunlight - is coming in at just the right angle that his eyes are fiercely, piercingly blue. “I think you’re already not an asshole just for caring about stuff like that.”

Gabe groans. “Tyson doesn’t know that yet.”

EJ smiles at him, kicking at Gabe’s sneaker with his own underneath the table. “And he won’t until you ask him out and he gets to know you properly outside of our class. Even I, the world’s best wingman, can’t ask a dude out _for_ you.”

Gabe frowns down at his fruit cup, lips pressed into a line. As much as he hates to admit it, EJ has a point.

He’s going to have to come up with a plan.

 

—

 

Gabe spends a lot of the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday and maybe even some of afternoon at work on Monday thinking about asking Tyson out on a date. Specifically, on what kind of first date Tyson might like. Good first impressions, and all that.

It’s a little hard, because Gabe himself is a pretty flexible guy - pun most definitely intended - but really, he’s easygoing enough that most types of dates are fun to him. Well, any kind of date would be fun with the right person.

He wrinkles his nose. Except horseback riding. Gabe still maintains that one of the (admittedly many) reasons that the blind-date fiasco ended up as fiasco as it did was because EJ had chosen to take Sarah horseback riding. That, and his teeth had fallen out part-way through the post-trail ride dinner he’d taken her on.

Really, the fact it hadn’t worked out was probably for the best. EJ and his teeth situation are a pretty package deal at this point.

Anyways. Horse experiences aside, most first dates are pretty cool. Movies aren’t ideal because he wants to be able to actually talk to Tyson, but Gabe’s not above looking a little silly in the name of fun, or showing off his relatively strong athleticism by doing something like bowling.

Oh, god. Is bowling too cheesy for a first date? He’s never going to come up with a good idea at this point. It’s been a long time since he’s taken anyone out on a date as a way to get to know them; even his last girlfriend or two were friends before they had started dating. He frowns as he tries to remember the last time he asked someone out on a date when he felt uncertain about their answer. Clearly, he’s a little rusty at this.

He finally calls EJ after work on Tuesday, hoping to catch him before he heads to Mile High the next day for his mid-week workout class. They’ve been texting over the course of the hockey game on TV, and it’s finally intermission - plenty of time to call EJ and endure the chirping he’s most certainly going to get for this, and maybe spitball a few ideas.

Feet up on the couch and Zoey curled into his side, Gabe bites his lip and finally hits call. His stomach still flips at just the _idea_ of asking Tyson out on an actual date doing a non-fitness-related activity.

EJ picks up and launches right back into the conversation they were having over text about the Av’s special teams this year, and Gabe lets him get into it, bantering good-naturedly as the talking heads analyze the first period on TV.

“Listen, though,” Gabe finally says, interrupting another one of EJ’s rants about puck possession. “What would you want to do on a first date? I need ideas.”

“I’m not going on a date with you,” EJ replies, immediate and blunt enough that it forces a laugh out of Gabe. The amused silence on the other end of the phone tells him that that is exactly what EJ had been going for. “No, really, dude - I’ve done my wingman duty in getting you into spin class, wherein you exist in the same physical radius as Tyson once a week. _Twice_ a week, if you were man enough to go to class on Wednesdays, too.”

“I keep telling you, that’s my recovery day after my lower body Tuesdays,” Gabe complains, and narrows his eyes when he hears EJ snort and mutter something about Gabe getting the lower body he actually wants. “Anyway, I know you’re going to spin class tomorrow, I thought - ”

“Nope, no can do, Landeskog,” EJ drawls. Gabe can just see him in his mind’s eye, stretching out with an arm behind his head and his stupidly long legs taking up the entirety of his couch. “This is your steer to wrangle.”

“Oh my god,” Gabe groans, “Erik Johnson, you are a horse girl, none of this _your steer to wrangle_ bullshit - ”

“I’m going to hang up on you if we don’t start talking about hockey again,” EJ warns, and Gabe huffs. Fine. He’ll play it EJ’s way.

They end up talking about hockey through the rest of the intermission and all the way through the second period, until EJ begs off to go to bed early enough to not be a zombie at spin the next morning. “Some of us have reputations to maintain,” he tells Gabe, then hangs up laughing while Gabe splutters for a reply.

Gabe glares down at the phone in his hand, as if EJ will feel the weight of his disdain through it. He turns it over and over in his hand, thinking as he scratches his fingers through the short, dense fur at Zoey’s ears. It can’t be too hard to ask Tyson for his number, right? That’s a good starting point. That’s doable. How hard could it be?

 

—

 

It’s really fucking hard, apparently, to muster up both the energy and courage to ask for someone’s number after they’ve metaphorically beaten the shit out of you in an exercise class.

Gabe will readily admit that it’s not an awesome metaphor on his part - hey, he’s low on brain capacity after the workout that spin gives him, his blood is busy doing other things, like _keeping the rest of him from keeling over_ \- but it feels apt, anyway. Even if Tyson isn’t the one kicking his ass to go faster. If anything, Tyson’s the kind of spin instructor who is so loud and upbeat and encouraging it’s as infectious as it is effective. Gabe’s really not one of exercise classes in general, but he’s never seen a group so motivated to do well by their instructor as Tyson’s devotees.

And spin class is always pretty much full, with every bike taken by the time class begins, except for Tyson’s place at the front as instructor. That definitely speaks to his skill at leading the group, considering it takes a good amount of motivation just to show up at six am for spin class on a Saturday in the first place. Gabe would know.

Gabe is motivated by their instructor in a different way, but hey. _Potato potahto._

They’ve finished the cooldown to their workout and class is winding down, attendees wiping off their bikes and wandering out as they catch their breaths or chatting idly with each other for a few minutes to recover. Gabe slides off his bike with slightly wobbly legs - less wobbly than they used to be, small victories - and casually glances to the front of the classroom as he gulps down the rest of his Gatorade. Tyson is talking with one of their fellow spinners, using the bottom of his t-shirt to dab at the sweat still beading on his forehead.

It takes a lot of willpower to resist glancing down at the toned stomach this action reveals. Today, Gabe is not a strong man.

Oh, god. The sliver of thick, muscled waist and abs that he gets isn’t much, but it’s definitely enough to make Gabe’s mouth go dry.

_Definitely_ enough to sustain some late-night activities over the course of the next week.

When Gabe finally looks away, EJ’s watching him with sharp eyes, glancing between him and Tyson. He does something complicated and vague with his eyebrows, and Gabe frowns.

At Gabe’s look of confusion, EJ tilts his head in Tyson’s direction and gives a little half-nod. _Oh._ EJ wants him to do this _now?_ What about the conversation they had last week around not asking Tyson out in his place of work, in a situation that might make him uncomfortable or feel pressured? Gabe _tries_ to communicate this to EJ telepathically, because they’re still within earshot of Tyson himself.

He must fail miserably, because EJ sighs and throws up his hands in exasperation, wandering away to refill his water bottle and gather up his gym bag from where he’d left it in the corner of the classroom.

Gabe snorts, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. What does it matter to EJ, anyways? God, it’s a trial, having a best friend so invested in your love life.

“Uh - hey! Gabe, right?”

He’s halfway through turning to follow EJ when a voice calls out behind him, and Gabe freezes, rooted to the spot. Tyson comes up around him, pink and sweaty and sunny-bright as always, a bit of a bounce in his step despite the fact that he’s just finished leading them on a _twenty five mile bike session._

He didn’t know that Tyson knew his name.

“Hey, yeah,” Gabe says, trying to ignore the sudden frantic pace of his heart. Wasn’t spin enough of a workout for it? “Tyson - what’s up?”

“Just, uh - ” Tyson shrugs with one shoulder, putting his hands on his hips, “Y’know, getting to know everyone a little better. You’ve been to - what, four or five classes now? Shows dedication, man. Hope that means you’ve been enjoying it!”

“Yeah, I - yeah!” Gabe smiles, and it’s amazing to watch as a grin blooms on Tyson’s face as he smiles in kind. God, he’s even prettier close up, and not reflected in the mirror at the front of the classroom. “EJ was the one who originally convinced me to try it and come with him to a class, and I’m really glad I did. It’s a great workout, and we’ve been having a lot of fun doing it together.”

A little crease appears between Tyson’s eyebrows as Gabe keeps speaking, and his smile fades a little - but Gabe can’t decipher it before it fades and Tyson’s grin has reappeared, although smaller. “Glad to hear it! I know the first few classes can be pretty rough, but I’m happy you powered through them and stuck with it. After the learning curve, it really is the kind of thing where you only get out of it however much effort you put into it.”

“Yeah - I do like the challenge, though. It’s different from the other form of exercise and sports I’ve done before,” Gabe admits, trying not to feel dumb about the permanent smile on his lips - it’s just, _Tyson_. The bright, attentive look in his eyes when Gabe is talking is completely intoxicating - as are the damp, sweaty curls that keep threatening to spill over his forehead and onto his face. Gabe can only hope that his staring isn’t terribly obvious - it’s bad enough that there are plenty of witnesses in spin class who could probably attest to him oogling Tyson’s ass during the actual workout.

Hey, every man has something that motivates him.

“Yeah?” Tyson says, leaning and resting an arm on the nearest stationary bike. “What other type of- ”

He’s halfway through his sentence when some part of the handlebars comes loose and swings out, dislodging his arm and sending Tyson nearly stumbling to the floor over his own feet, losing his balance in almost an instant. His arms windmill and Gabe reaches out before he can even think about it, wrapping an arm around Tyson’s waist before he can tumble all the way to the floor.

“Woah, hey - you okay?” Gabe asks, steading Tyson with a hand on his arm once he comes to a stop. They’re - they’re sort of intertwined, with Tyson gripping Gabe’s shoulder for balance and his arm wrapped securely around him. Oh, god - selfishly, Gabe can’t help but notice how toned Tyson’s back and sides are, where they are pressed together, and from this close his eyes are an even richer caramel-brown. He’s warm, so warm - that’s probably a side-effect of the workout, but it feels nice in all the places where they touch. His cupid’s-bow mouth is parted in surprise, still, and he gapes a little at Gabe.

“Uh,” Tyson says, slowly letting go of his shoulder - but not until after another squeeze of his deltoid, like he’s not totally sure that Gabe is real. “Yeah, um - thanks for catching me, dude.”

Gabe would like nothing more than to keep holding Tyson like this, but he’s hyper-aware of EJ’s stare boring into the back of his skull, not to mention the other spin class attendees that saw Tyson nearly take the spill. Either way, Tyson makes the choice for him and pulls away, slowly, shaking himself a little as if reorienting his brain. “Sorry about that - you have good reflexes.”

Tyson kind of says it to Gabe’s arms, but that’s fine. “No problem,” Gabe says, hoping he doesn’t sound as flushed and charmed as he actually is. His skin seems to tingle wherever they were in contact, and it’s like he can still feel the handprint of Tyson’s touch lingering on his shoulder through the thin fabric of his tee. Impossibly, the moment of accidental clumsiness has made him even _cuter_ in Gabe’s eyes. God, he’s really gotten himself in trouble. “Anyway - yeah, these days I’m usually a runner, but spin has been really fun. I’m really glad EJ invited me to your class.”

At the mention of EJ, Tyson’s eyes cut across the room and the self-deprecating smile on his lips dims a little. Gabe feels his heart sink. “Yeah, man. Good to have you here - I’ll catch you same time next week, yeah?”

Gabe barely has a moment to reply before Tyson’s giving him another wave, glancing at his watch and going to collect his things at the base of the lead bike. Huh. Tyson probably doesn’t run classes back-to-back - that would be _crazy,_ besides the fact Gabe knows the spin room is empty for at least half an hour after their session - but clearly his Saturday mornings are pretty busy.

It was still nice to talk to him, though. And Gabe isn’t going to forget the feeling of Tyson’s muscles shifting underneath his fingertips when he caught him, either.

Jesus, it’s unfair that he flushes so easily because he’s so pale.

“Well?” EJ says, sauntering up to him as Gabe takes a long pull from his water bottle, hands on his hips. “ _That_ was a pretty good move, man. Did he say yes when you asked him out? He was nearly swooning when you caught him. Couldn’t have been any smoother than if I had done it myself.”

“Oh _please,_ Johnson, the smoothness of your moves is debatable,” Gabe rolls his eyes. “And - no, I didn’t ask him. We were talking about how much I was liking the class and stuff and he got a little cagey and just bolted.”

“Hm,” Erik hums, running his hand across his chin. “Maybe he’s just shy? He did nearly take a digger and land on his face.”

Gabe frowns as he shoves his sweatshirt over his head, trying not to let his uncertainty show. It was weird, though. Tyson had been perfectly friendly, up to a point. Had he approached the edge of the acceptable-conversation-with-an-employee thing? It hadn’t seemed like it, but Gabe’s never been in this position before. All his clients at work are older executives who take him seriously enough to not hit on him - for the most part, at least. It’s probably different, being an attractive gym instructor around attractive athletes all the time.

“Cheer up!” EJ wraps an arm around his shoulders, guiding him in the direction of the gym’s exit - they’re due for their omelets, and without the exercise to distract him, Gabe can tell EJ’s getting pretty hungry. “There’s always next week for you to try again.”

EJ’s grinning at him like he genuinely believes this is something Gabe’s going to have a shot at week after week, and Gabe purses his lips. He’s gotta get it together and figure out a way to ask Tyson out without being a total weirdo about it - or blowing his chance, _or_ waiting so long that it’s weird when he finally does it.

The guy behind the front desk at the gym quirks an eyebrow at them as they leave - EJ waves at him with the hand holding his protein shake, so it must be Nate or whoever that he mentioned before - but EJ’s already launched into a story about something that happened to him at the coffee shop the previous week, so Gabe’s only half paying attention to the world around him. To be fair, there’s a not-insignificant part of his mind that’s still replaying and over-analyzing his interaction with Tyson, so he’s not paying that much attention to EJ’s rambling, either.

Tyson’s more than just a pretty face; Gabe didn’t need more than two spin classes to realize that. Well - a pretty face, and a nice body, with a cute butt. All of that’s true, but it was clear only two classes in that Tyson’s the kind of person that genuinely _cares._ He doesn’t need to check in with the woman recovering from surgery, but week after week, he stops by her bike during the midpoint break of their class to check up on how her knee is feeling. He’s religious about asking if anyone wants water, reminding them that they should enjoy the challenge but also listen to their bodies and not overwork themselves.

And he’s endlessly cheerful, despite the early hour of their class. Gabe isn’t sure how he does it - personally, he can’t do coffee before a workout, especially spin - but he always manages to put a smile on everyone’s faces despite how hard he works them. It’s not just a good attitude, it’s a talent for being good with people.

He just - lights up the room, as soon as he walks in. Gabe can’t help but want to bask in it. He can’t help but want to get to know Tyson better, like a moth drawn to a flame.

There’s gotta be something. People meet in situations like this all the time, right? Normal people manage to date and _ask_ each other out on dates and have fun together. Asking Tyson out on one date shouldn’t be too hard. And if it’s weird or they don’t actually like each other - well. Gabe doesn’t know if he likes spin class enough to miss it if he just stopped going. Probably. It _has_ been nice to change up his workout and get away from running on the weekend, give his knees a rest from doing so much impact.

He would miss Tyson, though. Somehow, over the course of the last month, he’s become an irreplaceable part of Gabe’s Saturday morning routine.

And Gabe can’t help but feel like there’s something more there, if he could just reach out and make it work.

 

—

 

Gabe has the crazy thought, Tuesday night, that maybe he could actually go to spin class on Wednesday. Y’know, to see Tyson again. To double his chances of actually getting the nerve up to ask Tyson on a date one of these weeks. At least seeing him more often would put him closer to the front of Tyson’s mind, maybe. Make it seem like he’s serious about this spin class thing, if that’s what put him off the last time they spoke.

EJ apparently does something of a spit-take when Gabe pitches the idea to him, because he coughs for a full fifteen seconds before he finally gets enough air in his lungs to reply.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” EJ blurts into the phone, loud enough that Gabe has to pull it away from his ear. “ _You?_ Going to the Wednesday morning spin class?

“I’ve done morning workouts during the week before,” Gabe retorts, a little miffed at EJ’s reaction. “I regularly run in the morning! I’m capable of getting up early enough to do it!”

EJ snorts, “Yeah, _once a week._ And you complain endlessly about it over breakfast afterward. Seriously, my dude, you can’t be actually considering doing this for a _guy.”_

“Well,” Gabe says, tipping his head back into the cushion of his couch and ignoring how his face is very obviously heating at the mild accusation. Zoey, at least, doesn’t judge him - so long as he keeps petting her. “I mean. You’ve seen the guy in question.”

“Fair point,” Erik sighs, and doesn’t press the point further. “It’s just _early_ , dude, and I know how you can get. You’re running a pretty high risk-reward ratio, going to two spin classes a week. Do you double your chances with him by seeing him twice a week? Sure. But you also run the risk of exposing him to _early-morning monster-grumpy Gabriel_. I’m not always going to be able to run interference for you.”

Gabe frowns; it’s a fair point. One morning a week he can go without coffee; but two? And in front of his crush, when he actually wants to have more than one brain cell alive and awake? He hates to admit it, but maybe EJ has a good point.

He doesn’t say so in as many words, but he can still feel EJ’s smug smile through the phone. “I’m just looking out for you, man. Someday, when you fondly look back on all of this, you’re going to see that I was right all along. And then you’re going to make me best man in your future gay wedding, because I was the one who masterminded getting the two of you together, and that shit’s sacred.”

“Sure, Erik,” Gabe laughs, some of the tension unwinding from his shoulders as EJ pivots the conversation into absurdity. “Isn’t that getting a little ahead of yourself? I gotta ask him on a date first.”

“So do it,” EJ says, and Gabe sighs. If only it were that simple.

 

—

 

 

On Saturday, Gabe’s legs are pretty much just for show when he climbs off his bike at the end of class. Gabe _had_ said, to Tyson’s face, that he enjoys the challenge of spin - and he can’t, like, directly prove the cause-and-effect there, but it seems like this week was particularly challenging. Even Tyson’s out of breath when he calls for them to break after their cool down, slowly letting his legs come to a stop and taking a long drink.

He doesn’t get off the bike, in fact, because one of the other spin class devotees comes up to him to chat, and Tyson has an animated conversation while wheeling his pedals back and forth for a good five minutes. It’s pretty cute; Tyson probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Gabe waits patiently, hanging back a little ways so that he doesn’t interrupt Tyson’s conversation. He talks with his hands a lot, when he’s not actively leading the class - he has to keep his hands on the handlebars like the rest of them, though he does seem to enjoy clapping to encourage them and fist-pumping when they reach the end of whatever sprint or hill. Tyson looks like he’s made to be constantly in motion, which he is: rubbing at his nose while he listens, rolling his shoulders and fiddling with the cap to his water bottle. Gabe’s not really sure how he makes it look good, but it’s endearing all the same.

More than anything, Gabe has no idea how Tyson has the _energy_ to fidget. Just standing here waiting he can feel the strain on his used and abused legs.

He didn’t think _anything_ came close to the workout of a good - bad? - bag skate, but here he is post-spin, wishing it was easier to swap out his calf muscles for a new set.

“Hey - sorry about that,” Tyson waves him closer when the other spinner nods her thanks and wanders away towards her own bike. His smile is big and infectious as he stretches his arms back and rolls his shoulders. It puts all of his muscles on display - not that Gabe wasn’t, like, lowkey noticing them anyways - but Tyson just has a way of moving like he doesn’t really know how hot he is. It’s a casual, unthinking athleticism that makes Gabe’s throat go dry at the sight. “Seems like everyone wants a piece of me after class today. What’s up?”

It also has the effect of driving every word out of Gabe’s head, including the ones he’d been repeating as a mantra to ask Tyson out.

“Uh,” he says eloquently. Tyson’s smile widens a fraction but he waits patiently. “Uh - sorry, that workout seems to have wiped out my higher brain function. In a - um, a good way.”

Tyson chuckles, his eyes sparkling. “No worries, dude - I forget what I’m looking for in the fridge in the time it takes to walk across the kitchen. And I’ll choose to take that as a compliment. Good workout today?”

“Definitely,” Gabe nods, pushing his hair away from his face as he licks his lips, tries to remember the thread of what he was planning to say. Everything about him is still sweaty and damp - Tyson had really put them through their paces. “Spin class gives a new meaning to ‘ridden hard and put away wet.’”

He probably shouldn’t take so much pleasure in how quickly the color rises in Tyson’s cheeks in a very flattering blush. Gabe will also never, ever tell EJ that he used a idiom about horseback riding while flirting. He’s gotta maintain some dignity, after all.

Tyson clears his throat - and is it Gabe’s imagination, or have his eyes darkened a little with heat? “Anyways,” he finally replies, sliding off the bike and wiping off his sweaty hands, “did you need something?”

_You, like breathing,_ Gabe doesn’t say. But Tyson’s reaction makes him hesitate a little, suddenly uncertain. All the concerns of asking out his fitness class instructor flood to the front of his mind. “Yeah, um - can I talk to you after class for a second? Like, outside.”

“Uh, sure?” Tyson’s reply comes out as a question, and muffled since he’s pulling on his sweatshirt at the same time. It takes him a few seconds once it’s over his head to tug it into place and make sure the hoodie part isn’t strangling him. Gabe tries not to smile too hard at his antics.

“Nothing bad, promise,” Gabe says, when the little crease between Tyson’s brows doesn’t go away. “I know it’s early, I won’t take more than five minutes of your time, tops. I -”

“Hey, Tys!” A blond guy in a Mile High Fitness-branded sweatshirt - Nate? - jogs lightly into the spin room, sneakers squeaking on the wood floor. “Sorry, dude, I know you just wrapped up your class - do you mind taking front desk duty for me for the next hour or so? Julie isn’t going to be able to do her pilates class today - Caro’s morning sickness is pretty bad, so she stayed home.”

There’s a beat where Tyson glances between Gabe and his coworker, whose name tag inexplicably reads _Nate Dawg_ , for whatever reason. True to EJ’s intel, Tyson and Nate must know each other pretty well, because Gabe would swear that they manage to have a two-second conversation with their eyebrows while he’s standing right there. It would definitely be weirder if it didn’t seem completely in-character for Tyson, from how much Gabe’s gotten to know him through his weekly classes.

“Are you telling me,” Tyson says slowly, with a look of mounting glee on his face, “that _you_ are going to be teaching _pilates?”_

“I’ve taken Julie’s class before, which is more than I can say for _you,”_ Nate rolls his eyes, “and you gotta man the front desk, so don’t even think about sneaking in to watch.”

“You,” Tyson pokes at Nate’s chest, right above his ridiculous name tag, “are _absolutely_ no fun, MacKinnon.”

“Yeah, yeah - tell that to Bednar, who is your _actual_ boss,” Nate laughs, and then seems to notice Gabe for the first time. “Sorry about Tyson - as soon as he’s not teaching a class anymore, he totally drops the professionalism. You should see him first thing in the morning, too; sometimes it takes him more than one try to get on the peloton, and he won’t stop talking about -”

“ _Nathan,”_ Tyson hisses, shoving ineffectively at the other blond. “You traitor, walking in here to speak ill of me! You come into _my house -”_

They squabble for a bit - at least, until Nate extracts a promise from Tyson to take the shift behind the front desk post-haste, after he fixes up his after-spin-class protein shake. He leaves with a wave to both of them, jogging back out into the hall; his exit draws Gabe’s attention to EJ, who is leaning against the back wall by the door with his eyebrows raised. When he catches Gabe’s eyes, he does something complicated with his eyebrows.

Ugh. Gabe can’t believe he has that kind of communication with _EJ_ , but they _have_ been friends for long enough to have achieved Peak Nonverbal Communication.

“So,” Gabe sighs, turning back to Tyson - who does look a bit sheepish at the events that just unfolded, “I guess I’ll catch you next Saturday?”

“Yeah, I - sorry, man,” Tyson combs a hair through his curls, which doesn’t help a bit at trying to tame them. “It sounds like we can’t spare anybody for the next hour or two. Is it something that can wait ‘til next class?”

Gabe looks into Tyson’s warm, honest eyes, takes in his whole aesthetic of sweaty, post-workout almost-frat dude with a heart of gold, and does the only thing he can: he smiles and half-shrugs, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in his chest. “It can wait; your job’s important. I’ll catch you next week.”

The grin Tyson gives him doesn’t totally erase the sinking feeling under his ribs, but Gabe’s glad to see it nonetheless.

 

—

 

Partway through his lunch hour on Monday, EJ texts Gabe a screenshot from his email inbox. Gabe has to force himself to ignore the notification of how many unread emails EJ has - just the _idea_ of that number is liable to give him an ulcer, christ - and he squints down at his phone to read the text.

_We’re sad to tell you pilates fans that your favorite pilates instructor here at Mile High Fitness, Julie, is hanging up the sneakers until after her wife’s pregnancy! Don’t worry, mom and baby are just fine - it’s just a precaution to ensure everything goes smoothly from here on out. We’re sure you’ll join us in wishing her and her family well!_

_As a result, the rest of the pilates classes through the new year will be taught by Nathan MacKinnon. You know him from our HIIT Bootcamp classes - just get ready for the paces he’ll put you through on the mat!_

There’s a photo of Nate in the next line of the email - definitely the same Nate that had interrupted his conversation with Tyson at the end of spin class on Saturday. EJ has captioned the screenshot with a string of thinking-face emojis. Gabe takes another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.

_I know who Nate is,_ he texts back. _I’m not mad at him for interrupting or anything. I just want to ask Tyson out before we’re both forty!_

_You snooze u lose, Gabriel,_ EJ responds quickly, but almost immediately the three little dots that show he’s typing appear again. Gabe doesn’t have to wait long for EJ to add, _but im like 95% sure Nate was the one I heard Tyson talking to about being single_

_They seemed to know each other well enough to be more than friends, maybe._

_Hey, we used to be coworkers too,_ EJ says. _and we totally do the eyebrow convo thing, dont even front._

Okay, EJ has a point. Gabe wills himself to stop frowning at his phone and finishes his lunch before he replies again. _So you’re saying I still have a shot at asking Tyson out_

_Won’t know til u try,_ is EJ’s succinct wisdom.

_And anyway_

_Im going to the pilates class tomorrow to scope it out, see if i can get any info out of nate_

_Instead of Wednesday spin?_ Gabe asks.

_In ur quest for love, gettin the deets is more important than my ability to move my corporeal form_

_Pilates might kick my ass but ill try to do wednesday spin too_

_Ill report back to u like the best wingman in Denver_

_Which I am_

_Fyi_

_We’ll see about that_ , Gabe replies to the flurry of messages, but he’s grinning already.

 

—

 

The noise EJ makes into the phone sounds kind of like a dying horse.

“You sound like a dying horse,” Gabe laughs, and his smile only grows wider when EJ groans again. “Hey, you’re the one who volunteered for this. I didn’t even _ask_ you to do pilates and spin back-to-back. This was all your harebrained scheme.”

“You needed the help, young padawan,” EJ says on an exhaled sigh, grunting as he shifts around and audibly plops onto the couch. It probably says something about their friendship, that Gabe knows what EJ’s couch sounds like through the phone. “But I’m not promising to actually go to spin on Saturday this week. You might be on your own there, bud.”

“Maybe you _not_ being there is a good thing,” Gabe counters, which - regardless of the _asking Tyson out_ bit, is patently not true. He has fun whenever he and EJ spend time together, no matter how much trouble they end up in. Usually, it’s a moderate, controllable amount of trouble. Gabe’s learned to take his chances. He frowns a little, smoothing his fingers down his beard. “That is, if you think I have a chance…?”

EJ sighs dramatically and the speaker crackles in Gabe’s ear. “I’m not at liberty to say too much, Gabe, but trust me. You gotta just bite the bullet and go for it.”

“ _Not at liberty to say -_ what the hell does that mean?” Gabe chuckles, but now his interest is piqued. What _did_ EJ find out in his pilates-then-spin double-header? What isn’t he telling Gabe? The plot thickens. “The point was to _report back like the best wingman in Denver_ , do you not remember the conversation we had literally two days ago?”

“ _Trust me,”_ EJ enunciates again, sounding tired but amused. He yawns into the phone - purposefully being loud, this time, because he knows both stalling and withholding information will drive Gabe up a wall over the course of the next few days. “I promise I’ll tell you once you actually ask Tyson out. Just - have a conversation with him. Just _ask him_ , Jesus, I can’t believe this has gone on for as long as it has. It’s been like _two months_ since I’ve been dragging you to spin. You’re practically -”

EJ makes a garbled, muffled sound as he flops into a different position on the couch, huffing like Zoey does when she isn’t satisfied with her current arrangement on the cushions. And - maybe, just for a second, it sounds like there’s another person in the room there with him, with a masculine voice. But then EJ interrupts Gabe’s thoughts by replying with human words this time. “I will hear no arguments on the matter. No wheedling, no whining, no flattery.”

_Well, when you put it like that,_ Gabe thinks. He doesn’t seem to have much choice in the matter.

“I just want to know if I’m shooting totally blind,” he says as evenly as he can - not whining at _all_ , to his own ears.

EJ sighs gustily into the phone again - and groans when, presumably, he moves one of his legs. “Sometimes that’s just life, man. Not knowing. People do it all the time. You gotta just go for it. Isn’t it worth it, to have a shot with Tyson?”

And, yeah. Gabe turns the thought around in his head long after they hang up, EJ grumbling about going to bed early and hopefully being able to move in the morning.

The risk - Tyson - _is_ worth it.

 

—

 

_Weird question,_ Gabe texts to EJ the next morning as he’s in line for coffee, _were you alone last night when we talked on the phone?_

It takes a few minutes for EJ to text back, but Gabe eventually gets _:))))))))))))))_ followed by a string of mostly indecipherable but definitely suggestive emojis. He knows what EJ means, at this point, when the eggplant and the tongue emoji appear side by side.

He wishes he _didn’t_ know, but that’s neither here nor there.

_Are you shitting me - you picked up at pilates?!_

_what, like it’s hard?_

In this moment, Gabe does not entirely enjoy the _Legally Blonde_ reference.

_when the instructor is hot enough..._ EJ continues, and at that, Gabe nearly fumbles his phone. His brain screeches to a halt.

_ARE YOU. SHITTING ME. ERIK ROBERT JOHNSON._

He has to read EJ’s text three times, and he’s staring down at the screen when another message pops up. _listen, if I can ask a dude out after one class, you can def do it this saturday._

_nate says hi btw :)_

When he finally gets his drink, Gabe has to resist the urge to drop his phone directly into his latte.

 

—

 

The absolute _unthinkable_ happens, that Saturday morning:

Gabe wakes up _before_ his five am alarm.

He stares at his bedside clock, totally baffled at the numbers on its face: 4:49, nearly a full ten minutes before it usually blares and blasts him out of whatever warm, pleasant dream he was having, in order to have enough time to get ready before spin class. Since that first session where EJ had dragged him in blind, at least he’s able to get himself vertical and dressed and downstairs to get his gym things together with the incentive of seeing Tyson in less than an hour’s time. And, okay - he’s actually come to enjoy the actual workout class part of it, too. His thighs haven’t looked or _felt_ this toned and strong since he was regularly playing hockey, back in college.

Anyway - he’s been able to get himself to wake up enough to drive, knowing that by the time the sun has risen over Denver, he’ll be in the company of one sunny-bright T. Barrie, blood pumping in more ways than one. But today, against all odds, he’s beaten his alarm by _ten minutes._

Oh, god. It’s another ten minutes he can spend worrying about exactly how to ask Tyson out, after class. He can only hope that even _without_ EJ’s secret information, he won’t make a total fool of himself. (He resolutely puts Erik’s escapades from the past week entirely out of his mind.)

He makes it through his now-familiar Saturday morning routine by getting out of his own head as much as he can, focusing on the minutiae of the tasks he needs to complete before heading over to Mile High Fitness for spin; taking Zoey out for a quick pee (she, too, doesn’t want to be out of bed this early - they’ll go for an actual walk later as a part of Gabe’s cool-down) and making sure his gym bag is fully packed and his water bottle is full. He gets a text from EJ just as he’s heading out the door - _def not coming to class, my legs are still made out of butter but good luckkkk zzzzzz_ \- and stuffs his phone into his pocket, allowing himself a small smile at his best friend’s show of support.

Gabe doesn’t need EJ to push himself into finally asking Tyson out after class. The peer pressure of EJ judging him from a distance was a distinct part of all of his previous attempts, sure, but Gabe can do this on his own.

 

—

 

Gabe waits until every other person attending spin class that Saturday leaves the room, so that he can talk to Tyson one-on-one. Of course, this day of all days seems to be the class session when people want to keep talking to Tyson afterward. But Gabe’s committed to sticking it out. He’s going to do this. He’s _not_ going to take out his phone and fiddle with it, he’s _not_ going to check his watch or poke at the fitness function apps that are part of it while he waits - he’s committed. He’s here for Tyson.

And Tyson must know; Gabe lingers at the back of the room, away from the vague line that has started to form by Tyson’s lead bike as people wait their turn to have a word with him. He keeps shooting Gabe looks from across the peloton that are part apologetic and part impatient, and at least that’s a little like they’re on the same page. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating, of course, or lessen the number of nervous butterflies that have gathered in Gabe’s belly. It’s a little excruciating, to wait and wait, even if it’s only actually something like eight minutes.

Okay, it’s extremely excruciating. He bounces on his heels, taking note of the stretch and burn in his calves from the workout. Gabe wouldn’t wish this waiting on anyone.

But finally the last person finishes up and gets the advice they need or whatever, and Tyson carefully takes his time in packing up his gym bag until they’re totally out of the room.

“I feel like I’m always apologizing,” he calls out to Gabe - like Gabe hasn’t also been waiting on pins and needles for the last spinner to be out of the room, leaving them blessedly, finally, alone. Tyson’s smiling as wide and easy as ever, though, like the inconvenience didn’t really bother him. His patience for helping people is one of the many things that makes him a good fitness instructor. “I swear I wasn’t always this popular to talk to after class.”

“No need to apologize,” Gabe says, taking a few slow steps in Tyson’s direction. His gym bag sways on his hip as he walks forward. “You’re a good instructor; no wonder everyone wants to talk to you after class.”

Tyson’s ears flush a pretty pink, one that matches the blush still on his face from that morning’s aggressive workout. “Thanks, man. Did you have, uh, spin-related questions or something too? I feel bad that I got roped into desk duty last week and left you hanging.”

Gabe waves away the second apology. “Really, don’t worry about it. But I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you about something not related to class. As, like. Not someone you see once a week as a sweaty mess.”

“Well…” Tyson tilts his head, makes a bit of a show of glancing Gabe up and down, as if assessing him. It’s close enough to being checked out that Gabe’s stomach twists and flares with heat, but not unpleasantly. Tyson licks his lips before he continues, “Sweaty, yes. But I wouldn’t use the word _mess_ to describe - that.”

He makes a vague circling gesture with his water bottle at pretty much all of Gabe, and if he wasn’t still pink from the exercise, Gabe certainly is now. “You just pointed to all of me.”

Tyson shrugs, only a little sheepish. His eyes lock on Gabe’s, twinkling with something like amusement and mischievousness. “I’ve seen models that sweat less and look worse, so.”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t just for show.

They’ve been slowly walking closer to each other from across the room, coming to a stop somewhere in the middle. Without the bustle of his spin classmates moving around and packing up their things it’s oddly still and quiet, the faint noises of the gym beyond floating in from the open doorway. Gabe’s heart thunders in his ears, battering against the inside of his chest. It’s certainly a confidence boost for Tyson to tell him he looks like a model, but he works at a _gym._ He probably sees fit people all the time.

_Just do it, Landeskog,_ he tell himself, and sucks in a breath.

“I don’t want to put you in a weird position,” he starts, and tries not to falter when an expression flashes across Tyson’s face, too quick to be cataloged, “and tell me this is too forward, because this _is_ your place of work even if, uh, we’re putting aside the instructor-instructee part for now -”

There’s a slow-dawning smile on Tyson’s face, and he bites a little at his lower lip - Gabe pointedly takes a breath and keeps going. “So I wanted to ask if you maybe - wanted to get coffee sometime?”

“Coffee?” Tyson’s smile doesn’t fade, but his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “But what about your boyfriend? The one you always come to spin with?”

Gabe gapes at him. “My _boyfriend?_ EJ?”

“Yeah, that’s the one - big, blond, like a hot caveman?” Tyson does this flexing kind of thing with his arms, which - okay, from his body language, it does look a little like EJ. “You guys always drive together, right?”

“I mean,” Gabe blinks, baffled and a little surprised that Tyson has apparently been paying as much attention to _him_ as he was to Tyson, all this time. “Yeah, because I made him, what with class being so early. He says I’m a traffic hazard behind the wheel before I’ve had coffee. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

Tyson frowns. “You kinda - you know, you guys go for a lot of ass pats for two dudes that aren’t dating.”

Gabe shrugs. “We played hockey,” he says by way of explanation - which is true, but it also seems to be the right answer, because the uncertainty and concern on Tyson’s face immediately smooths over into amusement.

He laughs, a smile blooming across his face, something wide and genuine and hopelessly amused - and maybe a little self-deprecating, when he shakes his own head wryly. “Should have guessed, eh? I used to play hockey, too. Before I moved to Denver, and a little after. Comes with the territory when you’re Canadian.”

It’s Gabe’s turn to grin, though it quickly slides into a smirk, and he lets his eyes go a little half-lidded. “I guessed as much,” he admits, eyes flitting down Tyson’s form - even though they’re facing each other, he knows that Tyson has an ass that won’t quit. He nearly salivates at the idea of what it might have looked like, when Tyson was actually actively playing hockey rather than running a spin class a couple times a week. “I didn’t think it was possible to get a hockey ass from a stationary bike.”

And _oh,_ is it fun to watch the blush bloom across Tyson’s face when they both _know_ that they’re flirting. That heat is back in his eyes, the warm honey-brown of them going liquid-dark in a matter of moments. It does nothing to damper the impish smile on his face - in fact, it’s more of the opposite; a shiver runs up Gabe’s spine at the duality of it, and from being the object of Tyson’s laser-focused attention.

“Well, if you ask my friends, that’s as much from the amount of ice cream I consume than it is from working out regularly,” Tyson admits, raking his fingers through his curls. Gabe doesn’t bother to be subtle about how the motion draws his eyes, lingering on the flexing muscles of Tyson’s biceps. Tyson’s grin quirks. “But on that note - coffee would be fine, but a trip to Dairy Queen would be even better.”

Gabe smiles, unable to stop himself from laughing as relief surges through his veins, something in his chest slotting into place that he hadn’t realized was so wound tight with tension. This is easy - bantering back and forth with Tyson is easy and fun, as much as his brain had hyped up this moment. He has a feeling that they could talk for hours. “Sure, I don’t think DQ is open before, uh - eight in the morning on a Saturday, though.”

“And what a shame that is,” Tyson shakes his head mournfully, but the corner of his mouth is still quirked in a grin. It puts his dimples on full display, which, _unfair_. “I gotta work the desk shift still, anyways. Pick me up here in the afternoon?”

“Can do,” Gabe smiles, “Y’know, there’s gotta be a milkshake joke in there somewhere. Even if this is a gym, not a yard.”

Tyson chuckles, hands settling on his hips, and warmth spreads through Gabe at the sound of it. “I don’t think Kelis was thinking about fitness classes at all when she wrote that song.”

“Ariana hit the nail on the head, in that respect,” Gabe says conversationally, carefully watching as Tyson’s ears burn an even brighter red. He lets his smirk widen. “I’ve been enjoying the view as well as the workout.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tyson mutters, wiping a hand down his face, “on’t start. Nate always teases me about how that’s half the reason my spin classes are the fullest of the morning sessions. Stationary bikes were not that sexy before that music video.”

“That’s probably not true, knowing what music videos came out of the eighties,” Gabe laughs.

“Ugh,” Tyson grumbles. “Seriously - turning red and sweating it out on a bike isn’t nearly as attractive as, like, I dunno. Lifting, or whatever. Or something more traditionally sexy, like yoga. Having one person who looks ridiculously hot doing spin is unusual,” he gestures as Gabe, who flushes a little himself, “but two? That’s a statistical anomaly.”

“You clearly haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror much during class, then,” Gabe replies, and doesn’t resist looking Tyson up and down again. “Or maybe you just aren’t at the right angle.”

“Jesus,” Tyson laughs, “Coming from someone who looks like that, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes to Dairy Queen,” Gabe smiles, taking a shuffling step closer. They’re nearly chest-to-chest now, less than an arm’s length away and caught up in their own little world in the middle of the big, empty spin room. All Gabe has eyes for is Tyson. “Say, one o’clock? Will you be done by then?”

“Yeah,” Tyson grins back at him, “Yes. As long as you won’t judge me for having a Blizzard as a late lunch.”

“It can be our secret,” Gabe murmurs, and slowly reaches out to cup Tyson’s chin in his hands.

He can’t tell if it’s his hands that are a little clammy or Tyson’s still sweaty from the workout - probably both, but the dampness seems intimate, somehow. Tyson melts into the contact anyway, eyes going soft and half-lidded, and he can’t be sure which of them ends up leaning in first.

There’s a muffled _thunk_ as Tyson’s gym bag hits the floor.

Tyson’s lips are as plush and sweet as they look, gentle against his own until he nips a little at Tyson’s lower lip, deepens the kiss as their mouths slide together. Gabe trails his other hand up to sink into the curls at the nape of Tyson’s neck, stomach flipping as Tyson gets a hand on his upper arm and squeezes, like a brand. They’ve both cooled off from the workout but Tyson must just run hot anyways - or maybe that’s how much Gabe’s into him, because their touch feels searing everywhere they make contact. It’s not long before his lips feel blood-hot and tingling from use, wet and slick as they make out like teenagers.

He’s gotta admit, it’s a pretty great feeling.

They’re both breathing heavily when they break apart, Tyson’s lashes fluttering feather-soft against his cheek as their noses brush, pulling away slowly. Something about Tyson is just magnetic, electric; Gabe can’t wait to kiss him again.

“You better get behind the desk before we become a gym cliche,” Gabe says, a little surprised at how rough his voice has become just from a few minutes of kissing. Tyson just laughs, pressing his forehead to Gabe’s shoulder for a moment before taking a half-step back into his own space again.

“Believe me, I’m going to get enough shit about this as it is,” he says - and rolls his eyes when Gabe gives him a small frown. “Not about saying yes - about how long it took since I’ve been into you. Which is, uh. It’s been a while.”

“Same,” Gabe exhales a sigh, and at the beaming smile Tyson gives him, he just has to lean in and kiss him one more time.

By some mutual agreement they keep this one chaste and finally part with the soft, wet noise of a kiss. As it turns out, Gabe loves opening his eyes and finding Tyson grinning up at him from only a few inches away - there’s a couple inches of height difference between them, and he smiles even wider to see in the mirror at the end of the room that Tyson’s gone up on his toes to kiss him.

Later, he’ll walk Tyson to the front desk for his shift there, trying and failing to stop himself from sneaking sideway glances at Tyson as they walk through the halls of Mile High Fitness. He’ll leave a few parting, flirty remarks and promise to pick up Tyson at one o’clock sharp, relishing the way his cheeks are still pink and pleased and his eyes shine with amusement - especially when he chirps Gabe as he’s walking out the door.

Later, he’ll pick up Tyson just as it starts to snow, and lean over the console of his car to press a kiss to Tyson’s cheek. He’ll kiss the whipped cream away from the corner of Tyson’s mouth, too, when he finally gets his Blizzard at DQ. He’ll grin when he sees that Tyson has added a bunch of ice creams and bicycles next to his name in Gabe’s phone, and laugh when Tyson texts him a bunch of nonsense emojis from one seat over.

Later, his cheeks will hurt from smiling so much, and Gabe won’t even complain that another new part of him is sore after spin.

It’ll be snowing when they leave Dairy Queen, so of course he’ll have to kiss Tyson again - and promise to make plans for later that week that don’t involve exercise bikes in any way, shape or form.

But for now, Gabe’s content to live in the moment, gazing down at Tyson’s flushed and upturned face, basking in the warmth of his attention and trying to absorb every detail. There’s one Clark Kent curl that doesn’t seem to want to stay off Tyson’s face, and Gabe flicks it away. Tyson smiles wider.

The only thing Gabe knows for sure, in this moment, is that he’s glad they finally got here. (And, maybe, that he owes EJ a fruit basket.)

That, and he’s definitely blasting Side to Side on his way home.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [venvephe!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/)  
> I'm also [venvephe](https://www.pillowfort.io/venvephe) over on pillowfort!  
> For hockey-focused content, I'm [tigerseguin91!](http://tigerseguin91.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on twitter! Find me there at: @[venvephe](https://twitter.com/venvephe) and @[ven_writes](https://twitter.com/ven_writes)


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